


Rabble

by seven (sevenpoints)



Series: Urban + Bana = BANANA [2]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Domesticity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpoints/pseuds/seven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The secret to a successful relationship is compromise. You can start the series here if Australis is too rich for your taste.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rabble

The debate over whether to settle in Australia or New Zealand had been contentious to say the least.

 

Eric didn’t really have much of an argument besides his insistence that Australia was just _cooler_.  Karl riposted with a printout of the week’s forecast for both countries in which Auckland’s temperatures were steadily ten degrees lower than those of Melbourne.

 

Eric looked at the printouts for about 0.04 seconds before rolling them up and swatting Karl over the head with them.  The big Kiwi grinned triumphantly under the attack until the edge of a sheet sliced a stinging paper cut across his cheek.  The ensuing chase resulted in one broken chair and a huge crack in the dining room wall from where Karl’s flying rugby tackle sent them both crashing over the table.

 

Later, after they stopped ~~giggling~~ laughing, Eric submitted to an icepack as he groused.  “All right.  Fine.  We’ll live in fucking New Zealand.”

 

Karl had the grace not to gloat.

 

+++

 

The next points of contention had four legs and floppy ears.

 

“What. The fuck.  Are those?”

 

Eric grinned up from where he sat between two beasts that were _actually taller than him_.  “Aren’t they awesome?  This is Artie.”  He scritched the neck of the enormous white Great Dane to his right.  “And this is Gary.”  He rubbed the brindled Dane to his left.

 

“Did you find them next to a nuclear power plant or something?”

 

Eric scoffed and wrapped his arms around both enormous dogs.  “Don’t be stupid.  I found them at the pound.”

 

Shit.  “So if I try to make you take them back—”

 

“I’ll go into histrionics about how that’d be as good as _murder_ and how this is your chance to save _two lives_ just by opening up your home _and your heart_ —”

 

“God damn it, Eric!”

 

“Karl.  Come on.”  He seized both dogs by the chin and pulled their heads down against his, the three of them staring up at Karl with their big brown eyes and son of a _bitch_ but that was adorable.  “You wuv them.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“You love me.  Go get him, guys.”  He released both dogs and they bounded over to Karl, tails wagging, enormous tongues dangling a foot out of their mouths and he couldn’t help it: he got down on his knees and snorgled them both.

 

“Artie and Gary?”

 

“Artemis and Meleager.  From the story of Atalanta.”

 

Karl stared and Eric snorted.  “What?  I am Hector, son of Priam. I’m allowed to like Greek myths!”

 

“You’re insane.”

 

“Yeah, probably.”  Eric took on a thoughtful expression that made Karl narrow his eyes.  “D’you suppose your old collar would fit Gary?”

 

There was a beat, and then the dogs scattered as Karl tackled Eric into next week.


End file.
